


we were speaking our prayers for the keeping of you

by swishandflick



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, DC-Era, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Shooting, Smut, The West Wing- In the Shadow of Two Gunmen inspired AU, no one dies, non-graphic references to violence, pre-jonjon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflick/pseuds/swishandflick
Summary: “At 9:34 pm today, as the President was exiting the auditorium after his town hall, shots were fired from the fifth floor window of a building about 150 yards away. The President was taken to safety immediately and at this point, we cannot ascribe a motive to the shooting. The Secret Service apprehended and took down the shooters approximately ten seconds after the first shots were fired, and a search for a ground accomplice is currently ongoing.”“Jon Lovett, a speechwriter on our team, was hit with a bullet from a 9 millimeter Baretta as he was making his way out of the building. He is currently undergoing surgery for a collapsed lung and a ruptured pulmonary artery at GW, and we will have an update on his condition in about six hours. The President will hold a press conference this morning at 8 am. I will ask you to limit your questions to one apiece, and I will be back in a couple of hours for another briefing. Ellie, then Steve, then Alexis.”A West Wing-In the Shadow of Two Gunmen inspired AU.
Relationships: Emily Black Favreau/Jon Favreau, Jon Favreau/Jon Lovett, Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	we were speaking our prayers for the keeping of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alrightamanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alrightamanda/gifts).

> A few quick notes before you read on:
> 
> Thanks to alrightamanda for the idea! 
> 
> Heed the tags!
> 
> The storyline is inspired by the "In the shadow of two gunmen" two-parter from the West Wing, and like that fantastic storyline, this fic also flits back and forth between the past and the present. 
> 
> Note here that Tommy is Press secretary and not an assistant press secretary like he was-I also played loose with the timeline of Lovett leaving the WH, and when Tommy transitioned from Press to NSC. 
> 
> The jonjon in this fic is pre-slash and not established (yet).
> 
> Title from the song "What you know" by Ali Dineen, which is the most jonjon song ever.
> 
> This work is unbeta-ed.
> 
> Keep it secret, keep it safe, etc.

“I’m not riding with him,'' Alyssa says, rolling her eyes, as they walk out of the crowded hall. “He’s going to talk about this at dinner anyway and I want-”

“You want to play Temple Run, we know,'' Tommy says, smiling. “I should head to the van-can you ask the boss about the ambassador assignments?” Their boss, who is the President. Holy shit, he thinks. One day he’ll stop getting these flashes of pure amazement at how he is actually working at the White House. 

Alyssa waves him away as Jon slips into step beside him, loosening his tie. “Tommy, he’s not doing the rope line, Rahm’s getting in with him, you should probably grab Cody before you head to the press van, he has to talk to you about the budget briefing. Did you see-”

It happens very fast, but to Tommy it might have unraveled over several hours. He hears someone yell “Gun!” a second before he heard the shots and the screaming, and then, was it the next hour? Several hours later, it seems, he feels his feet leave the ground as he is shoved hard, his head hitting the asphalt with a dry thud and a burst of eye-watering pain. The next hour and then the next, and the next, he waits for the shot. He dimly remembers a body on top of him, surely it’s the shooter, he thinks, he’s going to do it any second now. Tommy remembers his dad’s face, hugging him days after the DNC. Katie, crying quietly as she removes the ring with shaking fingers. President Obama, asking Tommy what he thought about the NSC. Favs and Lovett, bickering about beer. He feels his eyes closing.

When he opens them again, he sees cloudy skies and hears screaming and sirens. Dimly, he’s aware that he’s alone, and then registers a man- medic, his brain supplies- running towards him. 

“I am fine”, he gasps automatically, all his breath coming back in one swoop. “Where’s the President?”

“I heard they got him in, Sir. What’s your name?” 

“Who’s hurt?”

“I don’t have that kind of information. Can you state your full name for me, Sir?”

“Thomas Vietor”

“And what’s your job and why are you here?”

“White House Press Secretary, Town- town hall.”

The man shines a flashlight at his eyes. Tommy winces. The guy then sweeps his head, lingering on the spot where his head is throbbing.

“Okay, Thomas, you have a bump on your head that’s going to hurt for the next few days, but otherwise you’re more shaken up than anything else. Make sure you get some rest, and go to Urgent care if you’re feeling dizz-”

“HELP!” Tommy’s head snaps towards the voice- that’s- that’s Dan-

“I need help over here! I need a doctor!Help!” 

Tommy only registers his feet moving when he’s already halfway towards the steps where Dan was bent over someone in the shadows. Dan sounded- Dan sounded horrible, surely he was exaggerating, whoever it was is probably only knocked down, like Tommy himself was- he sees Dan cry out as a limp body sags sideways.

Tommy’s viciously knocked to the side of the steps as he walks up, shoved by a group of people running in the opposite direction.

He hears Jon’s scream before he sees the blood covering the small person wearing Lovett’s face, lying deathly still in Dan’s arms.

xxx

_Two weeks ago_  
“It’s been two years and I still wake up sometimes thinking I’ve called him Senator,” Jon confesses, rumbling through the refrigerator for Lovett’s not-at-all shitty beer. “Okay Lovett, there’s only one cider left, so you’re going to have to shut up and drink what the grown-ups drink.”

Lovett narrows his eyes from his perch atop the dining table, his legs locked together and swinging back and forth, his fingers rapidly moving over the keypad on his phone. “One is enough, I’m going to Ronan’s, but you need to tell your girlfriend to stop stealing my beer. Also, give me a break, you two get off on the fact that Obama is President more than he does. “  
Jon and Tommy groan in unison, and Tommy buries his face in the fading throw pillow on Jon’s couch. He knows if he looks up, Jon’s face would be doing the thing it only does around Lovett, and lately, around Emily. He wonders if Jon even knows how fucking fond he looks. It’s a bit embarrassing and very cute.

“You’re such a monster”, Jon whines, shaking his head in apparent disapproval as if he isn’t looking at Lovett like he’s the best thing in the world. Technically, I bought it so it’s mine, and you and Em have the same fucking taste in shitty beer.”

“Emily is my favorite. You’re never ever letting her go. If you do, Ronan and I are going to elope with her to Galapagos and we are never ever coming back.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jon mutters, passing Tommy his beer and throwing himself on the couch next to him. Tommy exchanges a grin with Lovett. 

“How’s Ronan, Lo? Is he coming to Michigan with the Secretary?” Jon asks, taking a sip of his beer and stretching out on the couch. Tommy notices Lovett’s eyes flit from his phone to briefly linger on where Jon’s t-shirt is riding up, revealing smooth, tanned skin. 

“He says he’s going to but really he’s going to “miss the flight” and end up working all weekend and eating peach slices and then texting me that he’s hungry”, Lovett says, making exaggerated air quotes and rolling his eyes. “So you’ll have to go with me to this burger place to get dry rub, Jon. They have the best fries- I had it on the campaign trail. You’ll also have to give me half of your fries. No, a quarter. I need to save some room for the ice cream next door. We should just split their chocolate deluxe sundae-I tried eating it on my own once and I failed.” 

“Sure, Lovett”, Jon says, looking pleased as fuck, looking like he doesn’t eat with Lovett every day, sharing peanut butter and apple slices and splitting protein bars. Jesus, Favreau was embarrassing. Tommy should really tell him someday.

“So you and Ronan going strong then?” Tommy asks. He loves Ronan. He loves Ronan with Lovett. He only wishes he’d thought to introduce them before Mandy Moore did. He got Emily and Jon, and it would’ve been nice to have something to be smug about with Lovett as well. 

Lovett’s face softens into a smile. “He invited me to spend Christmas at his family farm in Connecticut,'' he confesses. “I am- I am not sure- because I’m leaving next month and he’s leaving for England soon, but I really want to go.” He scratches at the label on his beer bottle, a sign that he was feeling unsure. Nervous.

“You should go, Lovett! Oh my god this is amazing!” gushes Jon, leaping from the couch and walking over to Lovett, clapping him on the shoulder. “You guys can try long distance. Plus, I’ve seen the way Ronan looks at you and anyone who looks at you like that while you’re stealing all their fries and their shake is a keeper.”

Jon was the most oblivious person in the world. Tommy’s going to text Emily about this for sure. 

“Fuck off!” Lovett says, shoving Jon slightly, though he ends up laughing. “Anyway, I am only going to meet the famous actress Mia Farrow, of course.”

“Of course,'' Tommy says, rolling his eyes at Jon.

“Of course!” Jon echoes, smiling, and ruffles Lovett’s hair.

xxx

“Someone should text Ronan,” Jon says quietly. His voice sounds hoarse, like he hasn’t been speaking for a while.

It was the first sentence Jon’s said in close to an hour. Since they took-they took Lovett in and Jon had sagged against the wall in front of the OR, and had let Dan move him around like a sock puppet and put him in a chair. 

Tommy glances at his phone. “I called him and texted him-it didn’t go through. I tried the department and didn’t get him there either.”

“He might already know,” Jon says, looking up at Tommy from where he’d buried his face in his hands. His eyes are shining, from tears or reflecting the bright fluorescent light in the waiting room, Tommy doesn’t know. “Everyone’s gotta know by now, that Lo-that someone’s been shot.”

Tommy wants to respond and reassure Jon that Lovett’s name wouldn’t have gotten out yet. He’s the Press secretary. He has to head back in a minute. He should’ve gone back right away, but the shock of seeing Lovett had rooted him here, and he doubted he had the acuity to move unless pushed. Before he could state this, however, the door bangs open and in rushes Ronan Farrow, like he’d been waiting for his cue, like this was all really a fucking play. 

Fuck, Tommy thinks. He should- he should tell Ronan, he should get him to sit down, he should give him a hug-

“Is everyone okay? They told me to come back here- is the President fine? I couldn’t hear anything, no one would tell me a thing! I called you Tommy, and you Jon, because of course Jonathan wouldn’t answer his phone,” Ronan says, rolling his eyes. 

Tommy glances between Jon and Dan. Don’t make us tell you Ronan, Tommy thinks, please, don’t make me do it. Because if I say it out loud it becomes real. 

“But I couldn’t reach any of you, but I ran into Cody on the way to the White House and he said you were all here, and I’ve been trying to get in for thirty minutes now because no agent recognized me until Ron came alo-”

“Ronan, Lovett was hit.”

Dan’s voice punctured through the air, and Tommy can suddenly breathe again, like he didn’t even know all the air had been rising and expanding, suffocating him slowly, rendering him speechless.

Ronan’s eyes snap to Dan. Tommy watches as his eyebrows furrow; he looks like he’s confused about a gameplay. Tommy’s seen in a hundred times now, Ronan sitting next to Lovett on the couch, Lovett’s legs pulled into his lap as he sits sideways, waiting his turn and occasionally nudging Ronan with his feet impatiently.

“Hit? Hit with what?”

“He was shot in the chest while exiting the building” Dan responds wearily. Tommy, wanting to reassure Ronan somehow, adds, “He’s in surgery right now,” and then wonders how that’s reassuring, because Ronan’s going to ask-

“Is he-is he going to be okay?” Ronan looks white, his pale skin and blond hair somehow making him look ghostly, his eyes oddly luminescent under the lights. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, because they’re shaking, Tommy knows.

“We don’t know yet,” Dan says, sounding softer than Tommy’s heard him. “The doctors said it’s critical, the bullet went through and collapsed his lung and damaged his pulmonary artery. They said it might take 12-14 hours”

Tommy turns away, his eyes stinging, and feels Ronan collapse into the row of chairs behind him. He reaches out a hand and touches his neck. His skin feels clammy with sweat, and Tommy can feel his entire body shaking. 

Jon uncurls himself from the seat next to Tommy and moves to sit next to Ronan. 

Dan clears his throat. “Tommy, you should go-”

“Yeah” Tommy mutters, standing up and vigorously grinding his hands into his eyes. 

As he walks towards the door, he notices Jon slip his hand into Ronan’s, the two of them staring blankly at the wall in front of them. 

xxx

_“At 9:34 pm today, as the President was exiting the auditorium after his town hall, shots were fired from the fifth-floor window of a building about 150 yards away. The President was taken to safety immediately and at this point, we cannot ascribe a motive to the shooting. The Secret Service apprehended and took down the shooters approximately ten seconds after the first shots were fired, and a search for a ground accomplice is currently ongoing.”_

_“Jon Lovett, a speechwriter on our team, was hit with a bullet from a 9 millimeter Baretta as he was making his way out of the building. He is currently undergoing surgery for a collapsed lung and a ruptured pulmonary artery at GW, and we will have an update on his condition in about six hours. The President will hold a press conference this morning at 8 am. I will ask you to limit your questions to one apiece, and I will be back in a couple of hours for another briefing. Ellie, then Steve, then Alexis.”_

xxx

_Three years ago_  
“Okay, I know I am not supposed to call it right now, but it’s this one, this is it, I want this one”, Jon said as Dan walks into his office. He slides the sample over and yawns widely. Fuck this, he’s going home after scheduling a meeting with this guy. He hasn’t slept in- well, it’s probably very bad if he doesn’t remember when he last slept, isn’t it?

“You’ve got to pick another one too. Don’t roll your eyes at me, Favreau. I want you to meet another one if this one turns out to be- I don’t know, a Republican or something. Although I suppose no Republican can ever be intentionally funny, so maybe this one’s good.”

Jon smirks at Dan shuddering. “Very smart, too. Whom do you think it is?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “You pick another one and we find out.”

Jon rifles through the pile on his desk. “Okay, this one was fine too. Number eight. And the obvious winner here, number twenty-one.”

Dan glares at him as he walks out. “You’re the worst. Okay, you should meet both of them. Please don’t hire us a crazy person. David has the names for the anonymized drafts.”

xxx

Jon meets Lovett for the first time at the Starbucks on Pennsylvania Avenue. In the years they worked together at the White House, this would become Lovett’s preferred Starbucks to hammer at his speeches whenever he says Cody is annoying him by talking aloud and writing. Jon would walk in here when he wants to find Lovett, silently counting the number of empty cups to assess how far along Lovett was. He also comes in to buy Lovett a sandwich, because he forgets to eat when he’s working on a deadline and ends up increasingly more and more cranky.

However, on this day, the first time, he is there first, and Lovett’s late.

“Yeah, not a good look, Tommy. How long do you think I should wait before I leave?” Jon says, holding his phone against his ear as he types on his laptop.

“Hmm..don’t you have your computer? I’d stay there for a bit, Dan’s having it out with Rahm about the comments last night.” Tommy responds, adding “I am only here because Katie won’t be done for another hour at least.”

“And Jon did help me out with that whole mess that time,” Jon says, shame settling into his chest at the thought. 

“Jon, you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over that,” Tommy says, sounding exhausted. “Besides, I remember him from campaign stops and he’s acerbic but he didn’t strike me as a mean person.”  
Jon’s about to reply when he spots someone walking through the doorway, spotting him, and heading in his direction through the narrow spaces between tables. Jon Lovett, he thinks, recalling seeing him around the Hillary group on the campaign trail. His hair is curling wildly around his ears, and he’s sweating through his thin white t-shirt as he holds out a hand, a bike helmet swinging from the other hand. 

He’s also wearing outrageously purple shorts. 

“Jon Lovett,'' he says, smiling slightly, and then- “ Okay so I know this is an interview and I should’ve been on time and I did leave on time but then I heard the H line was running very late, like 20 minutes late, so I decided to bike and I borrowed Sarah’s bike but it had no air and then I was not going to ride around DC in slacks- like, I’m sure only Republicans do that, so then I had to change and I was going to do it in the bathroom here but then this guy in this awful sedan flipped me off for committing the major offense of cycling past him in traffic, so I stopped to scream at him- anyway,” Lovett pauses, going slightly pink, still holding Jon’s hand, “I am sorry I am late, and I am sorry if I look like I don’t care about this, because that’s not the truth.”

Jon looks at the guy as he finishes, his eyes bright with defiance, like he’s daring Jon to call him out on his tardiness. Jon smiles at him and shakes Jon Lovett’s hand, absently thinking that his small and warm hand must be perfect for holding. 

What the fuck, Favreau, he thinks, quite unsure where the thought had come from. 

“You’re fine”, Jon mutters, letting go of other Jon’s hand. “We’re meeting at a Starbucks and I am pretty sure I’ve been wearing this shirt for three days now”

Other Jon bursts out laughing. Jon feels warmth spread in his chest and pool in his abdomen. Okay, he really needs to sit down. Tommy would not stop making fun of him for sounding like a puppet. Shit- Tommy!

“Tommy”, Jon gasps into his phone, holding up his other hand at Lovett’s raised eyebrows, “Shit, Tommy, I am so sorry, I got busy with this-”

“You’re a fucking mess, Favs”, Tommy wheezes, barely getting a word in amidst peels of laughter. “Also, you should definitely hire this guy. Just saying.”

“I- I have to interview him first,” Jon mutters, watching as other Jon walks up to the counter. 

“Well, you do that then, before you offer him your job or something.” Jon sputters as Tommy hangs up, still laughing.

He hates Tommy. He really does. 

Jon walks up to the counter, taps other Jon on his shoulder as he says, “I’ll get it”, pulling out his wallet. “Can I get a grande iced latte, please?”

The girl at the counter smiles at him, passing other Jon a venti cup that was inexplicably mostly ice. Other Jon mutters a thanks and turns to Jon, “I can’t believe you’re one of those people who orders an iced latte. Just get iced coffee, and look, they have free milk! You’re welcome, I just saved you two bucks. Sorry, Howard Schultz.” 

Jon lets out a shocked laugh and watches as other Jon walks over to the table Jon was sat at. He turns back hastily to the barista, who is no longer smiling at him and looks ready to tell him off for holding up the line. He decides to forego the coffee and instead gets a slice each of carrot cake and lemon pound cake, pays, and makes his way to other Jon, stopping to grab napkins along the way.

Other Jon smiles at him as he slides into the chair next to him. Jon’s knee bumps against other Jon’s as he places the cake slices in front of him. He hopes other Jon likes lemon pound cake as much as Jon does.

“Okay, if this is how Obama bros court future employees, maybe I was in the wrong camp for too long,” other Jon says, tearing a large slice of lemon pound cake and stuffing it into his mouth. “God, this is my favorite”.

Jon smiles to himself. Other Jon’s so fun. 

“Okay, before we get started, let’s work out what to call each other. Only, I’ve been calling you other Jon in my head, and it’s probably not something you should get introduced as.” Jon’s babbling, he realizes, flushing slightly as other Jon stares at him, abandoning the cake slice.  
Jon continues and finishes desperately, “Unless you want to be called Jon and I can be called other Jon and I am fine with that, but you can also call me Favs if you want, it’s what Tommy sometimes-”

“Jon, you moron, you can’t expect the President of the United States to call his Director of speechwriting other Jon, can you?” Jon lets out an involuntary cackle as other-fuck, okay, Jon Lovett bursts out, and then continues in a more sheepish tone, his shoulders dropping slightly, “Fuck, I am doing this wrong- I really shouldn’t call you moron- you’re maybe my future boss, although, after this-”, he trails off, looking uncertain for the first time since he stepped into this Starbucks, into Jon’s life. 

Jon Lovett should never look sad or unsure, Jon thinks. “You’re really not doing anything wrong. You’re- you’re good. I really really liked your sample. So did Tommy- Tommy’s Press Secretary, you’ll love him, and Dan did too, though he probably won’t tell you at first, he’s Director of Communications. We’d love to have you. But we should talk about it first.” Jon finishes, thankful that his voice steadied as he finished. 

A slow smile dawns on Jon Lovett’s face. That’s the third time I made him smile, Jon thinks absently. 

“You can call me Lovett. I probably won’t call you Favs unless I want to make fun of you or Tommy, who I am hoping for the President’s sake isn’t as young as his name sounds, because an eight-year-old press secretary might be brave and novel but it’s also child labor.”

Jon tries to speak through his laughter. God, he is so fucked. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Lovett.”

xxx

Three years later, sitting in a hospital waiting room, clutching Ronan’s hand like a lifeline as Lovett’s slight smile when he spotted Jon in the Starbucks and Lovett’s bloodied chest flit rapidly before his eyes, Jon thinks that Lovett had always made him feel unmoored, from that first moment. He wasn’t prepared for Lovett. And he certainly isn’t prepared for a world where Lovett isn’t by his side.

xxx

_One week ago_  
“So you’ll come to the farm, then,” Ronan asks, biting down Jonathan’s chest, lingering to lick at a nipple, and then the other, repeating until Jonathan was squirming so much Ronan wonders aloud if he should have tied his legs up too.

Jonathan groans loudly, beautifully, his chest heaving towards Ronan’s mouth, and with every sound that comes out of his mouth Ronan feels himself think wildly, I won’t let this go, I won’t stop, I won’t let go.

“Ronan, Ro-” Jonathan gasps, and then, “Not if you don’t let me come.”

Ronan laughs. Of course the one full sentence Jonathan’s managed in the last twenty minutes is a sarcastic and needy quip. Ronan loves him so much, wants to eat him up, wants to crawl into him and never come up for air.

“Patience, Jonathan,” Ronan breathes out on his skin as he makes his way down his body, leaving tiny goosebumps rising in his wake. He can hear Jonathan’s breathing get labored, he’s working himself up, just as Ronan knew he would, getting off on the anticipation of not knowing what he would do next, on being tied up, on the idea of commitment, on being Ronan’s.

Jonathan lets out a goddamn squeal as Ronan noses briefly at his cock before sitting back on his heels to grab his legs, hoisting them over his shoulders. Ronan groans at the sound, and also at the sight of the curve of Jonathan’s ass, pale and round and delectable. “You’re going to kill me. I am not even going to make it to Christmas because you’re going to kill me with your body and your mouth and your brain.”

Jonathan glares at Ronan as he bends him in half to press a kiss to his sweet mouth. Ronan wants to spend hours, days, years kissing that mouth, he has spent hours kissing him, back when they first got together and they were on Jonathan’s couch, giggling like teenagers who’d snuck out. Jonathan had crawled on his lap and pressed his mouth to Ronan’s, tasting like the wine they’d had, and slowly ground his hips down on Ronan’s.

“Do you remember”, Ronan starts, pressing feather-light kisses on Jonathan’s ass, occasionally pressing his tongue to the skin. “That night when we first got together, and we made out on your shitty couch for hours.”

“I am a little too strung up for making out right now, but yes I remember”, Jonathan manages, sounding pleased. 

“I wanted to kiss you like that today during the speech when you were sitting there looking all hot in your suit. Wanted to pull you over my lap and slide my hands into your pants and kiss you until your lips are swollen.”

The effect of these words on Jonathan is devastating, as he lets out a high moan, eyes closed and back arched like he can’t bear to hear anymore. His cock is leaking steadily from where it’s pressed against Ronan’s cheek as he licks high up on Jonathan’s left thigh. 

“Do you like the sound of that, Jonathan? Maybe I’ll come into your office tomorrow and put you over my lap.” Ronan presses biting kisses to Jonathan’s pale skin as he makes his way towards the one spot that he knows will make him let out a high-pitched whine when he gets his mouth on it the first time. “Or, maybe I’ll find you in Favreau’s office, put you right across his table and eat you out right in front of him.”

Sex with Jonathan is the best he’s ever had because they already know so much of what gets each other ticking; Ronan knows the exact spots to push that will make Jonathan begin to be loud, louder than he’s been so far. He’s doing that right now, in fact, his moans slipping into whiny sobs that have Ronan thrust his hips forcefully on the bed. Jonathan’s still verbose, if Ronan asked him what he wants right now, he would say, albeit amidst his cries of pleasure, “Y-your mouth, fucking put your mouth, you’re the worst, I want you, please, Ronan, please!”

And then, Jonathan gasps, “Tell me more.”

Ronan kisses around the rim of Jonathan’s hole, letting his tongue press flat on the pink skin around it, getting maddeningly close to slipping it inside the dark pink pucker, but stopping just short, until Jonathan’s writhing so much Ronan has to hold his shaking thighs down with his hands. “You and Jon can keep editing your speeches, and I’ll just have you bent over and rim you until you’re screaming like you’re screaming now” he continues, finally licking into Jonathan’s hole, and getting his reward in the form of Jonathan sobbing with overstimulation. His hands are straining against the cheap ties Ronan had used to tie them to the headboard, and he realizes that Jonathan’s not even trying to rut into the bed even when Ronan’s giving him so little. God, Jonathan's so sweetly obedient now, it’s such a contrast to his usual explosive personality. 

“I think if I tell Jon how sweet you are when you’re getting your ass licked, he might be inspired.” Ronan drives his tongue in and out of Jonathan’s hole, alternating with bites to his asscheeks that make Jonathan let out another whimpering sob. “Won’t you like that, Jonathan? Jon eating you out. Maybe you can get him to stop watching his football games with this. He’ll be so good at it, and you’ll be so good for him.”

Jonathan’s whole body is shaking now, and he’s being so good, so Ronan doubles down and eats him out as messily as he can, drawing out more of those gorgeous sobs and whines from Jonathan’s mouth. He steps back when he can feel him getting close, characterized by him pushing his ass farther and farther back towards Ronan’s mouth as if he wants to be eaten right up.

Jonathan yells out as Ronan pulls back, starting to sob again, and Ronan gently rubs along his delicate hip bones to calm him down, and climbs up to press his body completely to Jonathan's warm, tiny body. God, he’s never going to get over how compact and sturdy Jonathan is, he’s going to be eighty and thinking about, thinking about his partner’s body fitting beneath him like they were molded together. 

“Shh, Jonathan,” Ronan says, pressing soft kisses to the side of his face from where it is pressed against the pillow. He can feel the tears on his face, drying up now that Ronan’s eased up with his ministrations a bit. “Shh. I am going to give you what you want. What do you want, darling?”

Jonathan takes a second to answer, but then lets out, “You should fuck me. Fuck me so I remember it tomorrow, please, baby” He finally turns his head to seek out Ronan’s mouth, and eagerly licks into it like he’s been starving. 

Ronan drops on kiss on his ear. “I am going to untie you first though, alright? I know how much you love to hold me when I am fucking into you.” He sits up gingerly, listening to Jonathan’s groans, settling to the side of his pliant body and reaches for his hands. He should take a picture of his delicate hands, tied up so beautifully, the pale skin striking against the maroon and midnight blue ties. 

I’ll put it up in the Louvre, Ronan thinks, undoing the knots and holding Jonathan’s wrists gently, pressing his thumbs to the pressure points. Look at this man, and look at how good he is for me.

Jonathan immediately snatches his hands back and uses it to pull Ronan’s face to his, and they make out slowly until Ronan’s back starts to crick. He lays back and pulls Jonathan’s body over his, who comes grumbling.

“Do you want me on top? I don’t want to do the work today,” he complains, though undoing it by leaning down to kiss Ronan’s eyelids. He props his chin on Ronan’s chest, and Ronan brings a hand up to gently brush the curls away from his forehead. This was also his favorite part of sex with Jonathan, where they could slow down or take a breather in the middle and get right back on later after they’ve giggled their way through Seth Myers or played a couple of rounds of Mario Kart. He doesn’t know what to describe it as, but it felt like some version of foreplay during sex, where they build up so much steam that the tension becomes unbearable when Ronan finally fucks into him or puts his mouth on Jonathan’s cock. Ronan’s never had a relationship like this, never known that something so rewarding could be this easy and fun. 

Jonathan looks at him through his eyelashes. He didn’t look coquettish too often, but this, like every other version of him, was certainly working for Ronan. He thrusts his hips against Jonathan's to let him know. “Nice”, Jonathan smiles, intertwining their hands and bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to Ronan’s. “Are-are you okay with Jon?” he says then, sounding hesitant, averting his eyes downward. 

“Why won’t I be okay with Jon?”Ronan inquires, gently bringing their joined hands to nudge at Jonathan’s chin until he looked up, smiling. 

“You’re a menace” Jonathan’s smile still lingers. “You know what I mean. I mean, not many people will probably bring up the guy who their boyfriend of two months has a crush on during sex.” His cheeks are pink as he finishes, and Ronan let out an involuntary laugh.

“We aren’t most people,” he says, shifting his weight to lay on the bed next to Jonathan. “And Jon isn’t just a crush.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Now, let’s not even go there. I need to be really drunk for that conversation.”

“Jonathan, we can talk about this. I am okay with this. In fact, I brought it up while eating you out, so I am more than okay with this.” Ronan trails a hand down Jonathan’s soft stomach, loving the feeling of his treasure trail against his fingers. Jonathan lets out a little moan and arches his back towards the touch. 

“I am also mostly sure he feels whatever you do,” Ronan adds, lightly caressing Jonathan’s cock.

Jonathan scoffs. “ No, he doesn’t. Have you seen him? If Tommy wasn’t around he’d earn the straightest Obama bro title and retain it for years. He likes me, sure, because I am the one funny person on his speech team. Also, have you seen the way he looks at Emily?”

“Yes, and it’s also the way he looks at you.” 

“Ronan!” Jonathan whines. “Can we talk about my hot straight boss later? I don’t want to go to the town hall with blue balls.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Fine, be like that. But we’re talking about this.” He lets his hand drift downwards to circle Jonathan’s hole, wet with spit. “I am going to make you feel it tomorrow.”

xxx

Ronan disentangles his hand from Jon and walks out of the room. He looked like a slowed-down version of himself, like someone had taken his batteries out.

Jon understands it. He knows Ronan’s going to stand outside the OR, trying to get closer to Lovett, probably hoping he would come bounding out, sipping a diet coke and grabbing Ronan’s hand to drag him somewhere. Jon’s lost track of the countless times he’s seen this in the short time they’ve been dating, Ronan swinging by the speechwriters’ offices, Lovett brightening up and walking up to him eagerly. Jon’s watched him take people home during their years of working together, and go on dates with what he called “DC’s pitiful sprinkle of eligible available men who weren’t Republican”, but he’s never seen him run up to someone like this.

The day after Lovett met Ronan, he’d come to the office at 8 am, holding a Starbucks cup and smiling in what Jon soon learned was his patented Ronan smile. He’d stared at the sight, transfixed at what seemed to make Lovett look like this. Because he hadn’t known there was a way for Lovett to look even more attractive than he usually did. 

Lovett had then gushed to Jon and a Tommy who’d walked in about the guy from the State Department who’s so funny and so smart and how Lovett had come to work with him on the subway because Ronan had an early meeting and they wanted to continue talking about Bioshock.

Jon remembers joking that day that he hoped this Ronan guy would stick around, so Lovett wouldn’t drag Jon into playing video games with him all the time.

Someone clears their throat above him. Jon didn’t realize he’d put his head back down to grind his eyes into his arms, but he looks up to see the blurry form of Dan standing in front of him. 

“I am going back to the office to ask Plouffe about the President’s statement, do you want me to bring you anything? A change of clothes? I can send Tommy down once he’s done briefing.” Dan sounds like he hasn’t spoken in a while.

“I should do that” Jon bursts out. “I can- I’ll write something for the President-I’ll come-”

“You should stay,” Dan says firmly. “If-you should stay with Ronan.”

Jon doesn’t argue. Dan walks out, briefly touching a hand to his shoulder. Jon lets his head fall back, and tries not to think about the if Dan had let slip, tries not to think about anything at all.

xxx

_“The FBI has apprehended a suspect who is currently under questioning by federal law enforcement. We will not be releasing any information about the suspect until the FBI clears us to do so. I’ll mention again that the President will brief the nation at 8 am. We also hope to have an update on the condition of speechwriter Jon Lovett by the completion of his procedure, which the doctors say will take another four hours. He is currently in his eighth hour of surgery to repair a collapsed lung and ruptured artery. I will be back at 7 am with another update. Thank you.”_

xxx

Emily runs straight to Jon when the door opens, flying into his arms. Jon buries his head into her neck, the slats of sunlight coming in through the window falling across their joined bodies.

“Where’s Ronan?” Tommy asks after a minute. He wants Ronan to be here, to go comfort him, to do something, to make sure he was not alone. 

“He’s outside the OR.” Jon’s face is wet when he looks up, and Tommy wishes he hadn’t asked, that he’d given Jon the security of Emily’s shoulder.  
Emily wipes at her eyes and presses a kiss to Jon’s mouth. “I’ll go to him.”

Jon lets her go easily, watching as she exits the waiting room. His face looks unbelievably tender, and Tommy isn’t sure he’s supposed to see it. It feels private, almost a violation, but Jon had always worn his heart on his face.

Tommy clears his throat. “I got you clothes,” handing him a bag. “T-there’s stuff for Ronan and Lovett in there too, Em and I went back to the apartment on our way here.” 

Jon looks like he’s ready to cry again as he takes the bag. 

Tommy plows on before Jon can say anything. “And I think you have something of mine.”

Jon looks up, brows furrowed, and then his expression clears. “Yes, um-I have your ring.” He fishes in his pocket, pulling out a long chain with a ring attached to it. “Sorry, forgot I had it, I was going to give it to you but-”

“You saved my life, man, I don’t want you to be sorry at all.” Tommy takes the ring, turning it over between his fingers. “Thanks”, he says, “it’s my father’s. And- and thanks.”

Jon looks up at him and mutters “It was nothi-”

“Favs” Tommy interrupts, “If you hadn’t pushed me down I don’t know what would have happened. The car next to which I fell? Its windows were shattered because a bullet went through. So, thanks.”

Jon looks at him steadily and nods imperceptibly, and then moves forward slowly. Tommy walks the rest of the way and hugs him, feeling him shaking a minute later. He wonders if they’ll ever stop shaking, if they’ll ever stop being scared. If any of them will ever voice their fear out loud. He wonders how people outside of their circle talk about it, if to them, this already feels like an event they’re outside of, the President wasn’t hit, the shooters have been caught, we’ll talk about gun control again when Congress is in session, so everybody go home now.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without him,” Jon whispers into his neck. He’s no longer crying, and instead sounds much worse, his voice weak and lifeless. “I can’t. I can’t do it without him.”

“You won’t have to” Tommy tightens his grip on Jon’s waist. He can feel himself starting to swallow around the lump in his throat. “He’s never going to leave you. Lovett’s going to walk into your house and steal your Diet Coke when you’re 80, because you’ll all probably live on the same street or something, unless you’re living in the same house.”

Jon lets out a gruff laugh. They stay silent for a long time, Tommy trying to compose himself. “You did well on your briefing,” Jon says, stepping back from the circle of Tommy’s arms.  
Tommy acknowledges it with a nod. “I’ve got to go back there, the President’s coming here after the briefing, so Dan asked me to ride with him.” 

Jon nods back. “Thanks for the clothes,” he lifts up the bag from the ground. “For bringing clothes for Lovett,” he says, looking at Tommy and smiling slightly.

Tommy steps forward and presses a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “He’ll need it when he wakes up.”

He turns to go when the door bursts open.

It’s Emily, and she’s got tears pouring down her face, and Tommy feels an electric shock pulse through his entire body, his heart-stopping. 

But she’s smiling. She looks at Jon, and she turns to Tommy, and she’s smiling through the sobs wracking her body.

“He’s going to be fine,” she gets out. “He’s waking up.”

xxx

Jon clutches Emily’s hand tightly as he approaches the door when a man dressed in scrubs walks out.

“Hi, are you with him?” he asks, looking at them. At Jon’s nod, he says, “He’s awake but obviously groggy and cannot talk much. There’s already one person in there with him, so can I ask just one more of you to go in, if you need to.”

Tommy and Emily both turn to Jon. “You should go,” Tommy says immediately. “We’ll wait here.”

Jon turns to Emily, who gives him a smile and leans forward to kiss his cheek.

He pushes open the door. 

The first thing he sees is Ronan, his blond hair glinting in the light, his head bent over the shape on the bed. Jon Lovett looks small and completely swathed in the blue hospital gown, but Jon’s never been happier to see him and never had his feelings clearer for him than this instant. He feels his eyes sting again as they have so many times during the past fourteen hours, and he moves slightly forward into the light, unwilling to disturb Ronan and Lovett.

Ronan looks up then, his hand still clutching Lovett’s hand, his face wet and eyes red-rimmed. Nevertheless, when he smiles at Jon, it’s like the Sun coming out from behind the clouds after a long, rainy day. Ronan tilts his head and motions for him to come closer, leaning forward to press a kiss to Lovett’s cheek.

“He’s already being sassy, so I don’t think we have to worry too much.” Ronan laughs wetly, his eyes on Lovett. Jon can’t stop staring at them, at the way Ronan looks at Lovett like he’s the best thing his eyes have seen. It’s the same expression he’s had every time Jon’s seen them together. 

Jon wonders if this is what he looks like when he looks at Lovett. 

He moves to stand on Lovett’s other side. He looks so small. Jon loves him so much.

“Hey Lovett,” he says, lifting a hand to touch Lovett’s hair. 

Lovett turns his eyes on him, and Jon sees his free hand twitching. He moves to slip his own hand into it and squeezes.

“Did you bring me Starbucks” Lovett mutters, his voice weak and croaky. 

Ronan lets out a hacking laugh. Jon smiles at Lovett, his lips trembling. “No,” he says. “But I’ll get you one. An iced latte, how does that sound?”

Ronan continues to laugh, and Lovett glares at him. Jon leans up spontaneously and kisses his forehead, and then presses his mouth to his left cheek, and then the right. He slowly leans back, looking at Lovett. In his periphery, he can see Ronan smiling, but he only has eyes for Lovett.  
Lovett smiles slowly. 

Heart slowing down, Jon nudges his head to Lovett’s neck, stopping to brush a kiss to his chin.

He feels Ronan on the other side of Lovett and hears a kiss. Jon smiles. He gives it three minutes before Lovett complains about them smothering him.

“Welcome back, Jonathan,” Ronan says.

\-----fin------

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You're aware at this point that this was basically just an excuse for me to write jonjon and rolo without compromising on either one of them. I swear I started out writing Rolo but then Jon Favreau looking at Lovett kept flashing before my eyes. The Jonjon ending here is also slightly ambiguous, so feel free to take it where you want!
> 
> Come shout at me about these dweebs at https://tenisperfection.tumblr.com/.


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